


VE001

by saishosystem



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Violet Evergarden (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Amputation, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Prosthesis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saishosystem/pseuds/saishosystem
Summary: After being separated from your owner and mentor, you find yourself in Detroit. Connections with one Captain Fowler land you a makeshift home in Central Station, where you find a new purpose in assisting Lt. Hank Anderson and the prototype RK800, Connor, with your de facto partner Detective Gavin Reed.You are the human sent by Cyberlife.
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Dietfried Bougainvillea & Reader, Gavin Reed/Reader, Gilbert Bougainvillea/Reader, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Jeffrey Fowler & Reader
Comments: 31
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

_"Lieutenant Commander Gilbert,_

_I've been in the hospital for one hundred and twenty days now. My strength has almost recovered. Movement is still a little difficult, but I can perform my duties. Please let me return to my post soon—"_

The pen spirals out of your hand from the force of your grip, and you fail to catch it as it lands on the white sheets before rolling onto the tiles. As if summoned by the clacking of plastic against linoleum, the nurse steps in. Hearing your name pulls your gaze away from the writing utensil. You don't answer, only watch her as she sets a tray on the over-bed table, your letter ignored in place of toast, a few cubes of assorted fruits, and a cup of water.

"Thank you," you say flatly.

By now, the young woman is accustomed to your monotonous speech pattern, giving you a small smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

You finish breakfast while staring out the window to the right of your bed. A few blocks away, you can see Toronto's HTO park. Today, there was— to your confusion— a very large rubber duck floating in the lake.

Frowning at the idea of your vision failing you, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, feet flat on the cold tiles. If your vision is impaired, the Lieutenant Commander may have no use for you. 

You stand.

"Are you alright?!"

You had collapsed. Looking up, you see the nurse's worried expression and the face of an equally concerned man.

"Lieutenant Commander... Is he with you?" you ask the man, turning your head and pulling yourself up to sit on the bed to look behind him.

"He's... not here."

"Where is he? Did he return home? How are his injuries?" You pause, glancing down at the floor for a moment before locking eyes once more with the dark-skinned man. "Is he alive?"

Discomfort settles on his face, "He's—"

"You're being discharged from the hospital today," the nurse interjects cheerfully, "Captain Fowler came all this way to pick you up, you know."

You stand quickly, realizing your mistake. Your vision blackens for a few seconds from the sudden rise, but you keep your feet planted. "Master Sergeant Fowler. I had forgotten you were a Master Sergeant. I apologize."

"Sit down," he says, lightly pushing a hand down on your shoulder. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"We met twice in the past: during training and the week prior to the Lieutenant Commander's deployment to the Arctic."

"Yeah, you're right." Fowler coughs and scratches the back of his neck. He takes a seat beside you and looks to the table, noticing the corner of a piece of paper sticking out underneath the grey breakfast tray. Curiously, he moves the tray onto the bed sheets behind him, picking up the letter. He hadn't seen a letter in too long-- one penned by hand, that is. "You were writing?"

"The physical therapist advised writing to improve my condition, but you still haven't answered me. Where is the Lieutenant Commander?" You repeat.

He huffs. "Don't worry, he's just fine... He's the one who told me to come get you."

"What post is he assigned to now? When will I be able to join him?"

Standing, he walks towards the door. "Get changed. We'll talk more in the car." Fowler gestures to a suitcase at the foot of your bed that you hadn't noticed before. He must have brought it. "Your things from the base are in there."

You dig into it immediately, rifling through the books and clothing. Your naval uniform is gone, but that isn't your main concern. "I'm missing an emerald brooch."

"That's everything from your quarters at the base," Fowler frowns.

"It isn't here." Your breathing quickened. "He gave it to me. I have to—"

He grabs your arm and locks eyes with you for a moment. The nurse takes this as her cue to leave. "Calm. Down." He speaks slowly. You smell the coffee on his breath. "I'll find it. Right now, you need to get dressed. I'll be in the hall."

After he closed the door behind him, you do as you were told, calming your breathing as you change. You pull on black pants, thinking of where the brooch could be. He said that was everything from your room? It takes longer than usual to button up your white shirt, but after writing everyday for hours on end, your fine motor skills had admittedly improved. 

_But I never used the dresser assigned to me. I got things from my suitcase as necessary._

You scowl at the open suitcase as you tuck in your shirt, then loop a black belt into your pants. 

_I never unpacked. It should be here._

Pulling on the blazer, you consider dumping the contents of the suitcase but decide against it. Fowler is waiting.

"I'm supposed to take care of you... or find someone to, at least. His orders." Fowler reassures you as he drives.

You sit in the passenger seat with your hands folded in your lap. "I understand, Master Sergeant."

He scoffs. "You can stop with that. I'm not in the Air Force anymore, but if you wanna be stubborn with titles, you can call me Captain. " You tilt your head at this. "I'm in charge of a precinct."

"Oh," you say quietly. So quietly, you wonder if you'd only mouthed it.

"Detroit is still another three hours from here. You can go ahead and sleep, I won't mind."

"I'm alright." Fowler looks at you for a moment, studying the design on your blazer. Thinking back to the letter from Gilbert, he bites his tongue and refrains from asking any questions. It was none of his business, and although he'd become used to knowing near everything at the station, he would respect his old friend's wishes.

For the next three hours, you sit in silence, thoughts torn between your future as an asset and the whereabouts of the Lieutenant Commander.


	2. Chapter 2

You awake at 06:30am as usual, opening your eyes to the ceiling of one of the DPD Central Station's storage rooms. Captain Fowler had given you the only key-card to the long since forgotten room.

Gilbert's instructions were to bring you to live with his distant relatives in Detroit, but upon bringing you there, the elderly couple had responded... poorly to your attire. Fowler blamed himself for the incident, admitting that he should've told you to remove your CyberLife branded blazer before meeting them, considering the ongoing situation regarding cases of the company's deviant androids. In his error, he apologized by letting you stay at the station. No one said much of it, save for a few passing comments of "another tin can" wandering the building.

Their assumption wasn't an issue, so you didn't bother correcting them.

The week you moved in, you had rearranged the storage room as much as necessary, that is to say, very little. You moved and stacked just enough crates to make room for a simple cot in the corner, your suitcase stowed away underneath. After visiting the CyberLife building, they'd supplied you with more of the same uniform, which you folded neatly on top of one of the shorter, longer crates beside your cot. They were a bit surprised to see you, but greeted you warmly. You didn't feel as comfortable though.

You exchange your black t-shirt and grey sweatpants— you owned five sets of this outfit— for your uniform, taking time to fix your hair. Your hand drifts to your collar. The captain never got back to you about the brooch, and you never missed it any less. You need it back.

It is now 7 o'clock. You exit your room and make your way to the kitchen area. A handful of officers will be arriving in two to three minutes. You hear them talking among themselves as they enter the station. You turn around, a cup of coffee in hand. On the table beside you are seven other cups with initials on them. You'd noted how the seven early officers preferred theirs, and left a sticky note on the inside of a cabinet for yourself, listing how much sugar or cream per cup. Since you don't actually work at the station, it's something to keep you busy during your time there, and you appreciate fillers like this.

The group thanks you, some kindly and others a bit coldly. Two of them even greet you first with a "good morning." You don't care much for their opinion of you, but internally confess that the days do go by smoother when you're generally liked.

Still holding a cup, you walk to the captain's office, knocking gently on the door and pushing it open when he nods and waves you inside. "Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning," he sighs, eyes not leaving the monitor. "Before you ask, no. I don't have any orders for you." Glancing up, he eyes the coffee in your hand, a JF written on it. "I'll take that, though."

Handing it to him, you ask anyway: "Captain, are you sure there isn't anything I can assist with?"

Another sigh. He points to one of the empty desks outside, "That terminal is unassigned. I'll send you recordings of witness and suspect interrogation sessions. Just... go ahead and transcribe them."

"Would I be making a difference in the workload around here?" You question, skeptical of what seemed to just be busy work.

"Not immediately." Fowler looks up at your deflated expression, taking a deep breath before continuing softly, "A typed transcription wouldn't just be for redundancy. Say if someone on the Red Ice Task Force needed to review a session for a name, date, place— whatever— it'd be easier to search a document 'stead of hours of audio. That make sense?"

You nod.

"Thanks. I'm sure they'll thank you, too."

You'd started from the most recent sessions, figuring they would be the most urgent since they dealt with the majority of red ice and deviant cases. Rolling your shoulders and straightening in your chair, you pull up the next recording. It's one from yesterday: November 6th, 2038. 12:35am. A deviant who'd killed his owner.

The first few minutes of footage is of one Lieutenant Hank Anderson questioning the deviant to no avail. You look up from the screen and around the office, but you don't see him. He must not have arrived at the station yet. Pressing play again, you watch the deviant sit alone for a minute. Then, another android steps in. You recognize him. You'd glanced over him when you swept the room for Hank. He is dressed almost identically to you in a CyberLife provided uniform. The only differences were his tie and lettering on his blazer. Yours has no serial number nor the label "ANDROID" printed across the back, and where his reads 'RK800,' yours reads 'VE001.'

You watch as the android, Connor as the captain referred to him, takes a seat in front of the deviant. You type away in a separate window, pausing once in a while when you have to catch up to a sentence. Writing only improved your coordination so much.

> `RK800:` "If you don't talk, they're going to tear you apart and analyze you piece by piece. They're going to destroy you, do you understand?"
> 
> . . .
> 
> `RK800:` "Okay then... Don't talk. Why do I care, after all? I mean, I'm not the one accused of murder, right?"

You pause the video. Something about his words and body language stirred something in you. Looking up once more, you see him still sitting in a chair beside Lieutenant Anderson's desk, idly flipping a quarter while he waits for his partner. Envy.

Furrowing your brow at the conclusion, you bring your hand to your collar reflexively. 

_I... envy. I envy Connor. Why?_

Shrugging off the thought, you resume transcribing the recording. Once in a while, you pause to look at Connor, who is curiously examining the lieutenant's desk. His ability to adapt and change his demeanor to suit a situation is admirable.

_I want to be admirable._

You look down at your hands, flexing them through the black gloves before pressing play.

> `RK800:` "Why did you write 'I am alive' on the wall?"
> 
> `HK400:` "He used to tell me I was nothing... That I was just a piece of plastic... I had to write it, to tell him he was wrong..."
> 
> . . .
> 
> `RK800:` "When did you start feeling emotion?"
> 
> `HK400:` "Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything... But one day I realized it wasn't... fair... I felt anger... hatred... and then I knew what I had to do.

Feeling emotion. A deviant android can feel. They can express. You twist the material of your gloves around your fingers, stretching and pulling at the fabric, black threads exposed at the seams.

Does a human have the capacity to deviate from its biological programming?

You look to him again, but the chair is empty. Confused, you turn and see him actually standing in front of your desk to your left. He's staring intently at the electric blue triangle sewn onto your blazer. The LED on his temple glows yellow.

* * *
    
    
    **MODEL VE001 -**
    err0bject_notFound
    Manufacture date: /unknown//
    Property of: Gilbert Bougainvillea

Connor's analysis is... puzzling. The ID coded into the symbol certainly belongs to it; its face matches the image. Yet, its data profile seems incomplete. Maybe even corrupted. "Are you another prototype?" he inquires.

"A... prototype?" It cocks its head. Odd.

"Yes. An experimental model." It lacks an LED at its temple. "What's your purpose?"

It blinks, then stands. Its right hand moves to an awkward half-salute before dropping. The VE001 bows slightly, and states what must have been its registered name. "I am to transcribe recordings of interrogation sessions for future reference until further notice from Captain Fowler."

Military habits. It must have been reassigned. This is even more odd. Should an android be re-purposed, it should be reset. 

It obviously wasn't. 

He opens his mouth to speak again, but stops himself, Lieutenant Hank Anderson appearing in his peripheral. "Please, stay right here," he tells it before following Hank into the captain's office.


	3. Chapter 3

Hank storms out of the glass office, leaving Connor alone with Captain Fowler. He thinks for a moment before speaking: "I'm very pleased to join the team. I can assure you I'll do my very best—"

"Close the door on your way out," the captain waves.

Connor turns his attention to the door, then to the seemingly faulty android still typing away at its desk, then back to his superior. "That VE001," he starts, careful and articulate, "Captain, I believe it would be beneficial to my investigation if I were allowed to... borrow it."

He slowly raises his narrowed eyes to the android, " _Borrow her?_ And what for, exactly?"

"It..." Connor corrects his diction to match the captain's. "She seems to be useful in terms of further understanding deviancy. Seeing as all she does is log interrogation records, I'm sure the absence of one android wouldn't be detrimental to the rest of the station."

The captain's gaze flicks to the VE001 for a moment, an incredulous expression on his face. "An android?" 

Connor stares blankly for a moment, LED flashing yellow. "... The ID on her jacket is that of an android. Model VE001. She is owned by Gilbert Bougainvillea. She's property."

"Oh, for fuck's sake—" He slams a fist on the desk, "What she _is_ isn't my business. If you want to take her, take her... Just have her back here when you're done." In all honesty, not even the captain understands what she is. He's aware of her connections to CyberLife, but beyond that, he's in the dark.

"Get out, Connor."

VE001 has piqued the android's curiosity.

* * *

You turn away from your monitor when you hear the captain's office door close, and watch Connor approach. "Detective," you greet.

He speaks your name somewhat slowly, as if it were a new word in a foreign language. "You are to accompany Lieutenant Anderson and I to search for a deviant. I will go get the lieutenant. Meet us outside shortly."

The notion of being needed, of having a use, energizes you. You quickly nod at Connor, "Of course, Detective."

As he walks towards Lieutenant Anderson, you make your way up the steps to Captain Fowler. "Captain, the detective Connor has given me orders to leave the station. I wished to confirm with you that this would be—"

"It's fine," he spits impatiently. Taking a breath to calm himself, he rephrases more gently, "It's alright, but don't do anything stupid, and don't get in their way."

"Yes, sir."

You step out of the back seat of Lieutenant Anderson's car, taking in your surroundings. You'd never been to this part of the city before, which wasn't all that surprising given you'd only ever taken taxis between the station and CyberLife building. Your gloves were already soaked by the rain. The added water weight threatens to pull them off, so you keep your hands clasped in front of you.

"It took the first bus that came along, and stayed at the end of the line. Its decision wasn't planned. It was driven by fear." You look up at Connor, who stands to your left.

Lieutenant Anderson scoffs, "Androids don't feel fear."

"Deviants do." His matter-of-fact response made you reflect for a moment. When was the last time you were afraid? That's easy. It was the last time you'd seen Lieutenant Commander Gilbert. Connor continues, "They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions."

Gilbert had praised you for your quick judgement. He'd called you rational. Perfectly predictable. Attuned to him. His soft smile flashes in your mind. His emerald eyes. You reach up to rest your hand on your collar again, hooking a finger onto it. You take a breath and tune back in to the conversation.

"...it had nowhere to go," Connor speculates, "Maybe it didn't go far."

"Deviants don't function well in high-stress situations," you speak. The two turn their eyes to you. You explain: "I learned that from your interrogation of a deviant yesterday afternoon. The model was an AX400..." You look to Connor for confirmation. He nods. "Regardless of being a deviant, without orders it would be most comfortable in a familiar environment. As a housekeeper, it would logically be drawn to—"

"A home." Connor finishes. "Yes, I considered that."

As sensible as the conclusion seemed, the derelict house across the street is empty. There are traces of the deviant staying there, the most obvious being an LED on a sink upstairs. Connor seems distracted by the kitchen, which had "ra9" scrawled all over the walls, and the signs of a recent fire. An android has no need for warmth.

The house itself is still under investigation on the account of the corpse in the upstairs bathroom, but a different team of detectives will be assigned to tackle it. Lieutenant Anderson and Connor are to stay with their deviant cases.

While the lieutenant spoke with the other officers, you ask Connor, "Why did you require my presence?"

"My mission is to stop deviants and help CyberLife understand the cause for deviancy. You seem capable of assisting."

"In what way, Detective?"

"Deviants are... anomalies. They are flawed." He points to the blue triangle on your chest. "You are flawed. Your identity is an abnormality. Though, for a deviant you don't seem to be as... extreme as the previous cases I've dealt with."

You drop your gaze to the floor before resuming eye contact. "How does that pertain to your investigation?"

"I would like to see how your deviancy develops. It could give me clues as to how to predict and prevent future instances." The corners of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. "I did consider arresting you, but the most natural circumstances yield the most accurate results. An android wouldn't deviate realistically in captivity."

You frown before your expression becomes blank. "I apologize. Your... experiment does have merit, but I don't believe I'm suitable for observation."

"Why not?"

"Detective, I'm not an android."


	4. Chapter 4

Connor blinks. Several times. His brows furrow in unabashed confusion. He opens his mouth, then closes it, LED flashing yellow. After a minute of processing, he's composed himself. "You're not an android."

"Yes..." You speak slowly, "That's what I said, detective."

"You have a CyberLife android profile. I scanned you and found several biocomponents."

"I assure you, I am human."

A silence settles over the two of you. You deem it appropriate to speak again: "If I am not here for the reason you intended, I will return to the station."

Connor's puzzled expression morphs into one of seemingly genuine alarm. He reaches for your arm as you turned to walk away, calling your name. "Please, wait. I—"

* * *

**I am laying on a table. There is a white light above me. It is hard to see. There are voices. They are coming from the right.  
I turn my head to find their source. A man and woman are talking.  
There is a word on the glass wall behind them: CyberLife. I am in the CyberLife building.**

**Her:** "We send you to recover Russian tech and you come back with a child."  
**Him:** "This kid _is_ Russian tech. They... did something to her. Lots of somethings. I promise, I didn't waste time."  
**Her:** "That's for us to decide, Mr. Jacobs. You won't receive payment until we've confirmed its value. You're dismissed."  
**Him:** "Confirm it soon, then."

**He is walking away, but he pauses.**

**Him:** "Be nice to her, yeah? Pet project or not, she's a kid."  
**Her:** "I assure you, she will be well taken care of. Assuming she is worth the effort."

**I cannot hear what the man says next. The door slides shut behind him. The woman is looking down at me. I can only see the silhouette of her head against the light. Strands of her hair feel soft on my face.**

**Her:** _"Welcome to CyberLife."_  


* * *

The memory leaves Connor reeling. When he opens his eyes, the VE001 standing a few feet in front of him, holding her arm to her chest. He looks down at the black glove in his grip. 

His eyes find her bare hand. It's white, that of an android whose skin projection is inactive. He takes a cautionary step forward, but she doesn't move. After her initial shock fades, she doesn't seem tense. A scan shows no signs of an elevated pulse or respiratory rate. Connor adjusts his tie before extending his hand towards her, offering the glove back.

She takes it. "If I may ask," she slips it on. "Was probing my memories necessary?"

"You said you weren't an android."

"That's correct, I'm not."

"I'm unable to probe humans."

"As you said, I possess CyberLife-issued biocomponents. You probed #0003, my neurosensory log."

He feels the urge to touch her again— to learn more about her. As a detective, it's only natural for his programming to make him curious and inquisitive. He's following protocol to gather information. He's functioning as he should.

So why does he detect traces of software instability?

He calls her name. She's outside the house now, and he gazes at her through the doorway. His tone is hesitant: "If it isn't an inconvenience... I would like to... May I probe your memories again?"

There's no sign of discomfort in her stance. The concept of someone looking inside her head doesn't seem to bother her, much to Connor's surprise. However, she _is_ bothered by things she doesn't understand. He could deduce as much from her insistence on replying to questions with more questions, so her next words are expected. "What for, detective?"

"A lesser investigation of mine."

She considers his request. "It wouldn't be an inconvenience at all. I only request a compromise."

"What would that be?"

"I want to continue following your investigation of deviancy."

"I'll see if Lt. Anderson allows it, but why?"

"A lesser investigation of my own, detective."

* * *

Strangely, the lieutenant wasn't adamantly opposed to you joining them. He'd gotten used to your ghost-like presence in the office and somewhat appreciated the quiet company. At first, he wasn't as tolerant of you, thinking you were an android, but Hank soon learned you were a human after asking Fowler why he brought you in one day. Once he'd mentioned 'injuries' and that an old military buddy asked him to pick you up from the hospital, Hank shrugged you off as a CyberLife agent with shitty people skills, and he wasn't that far off the mark.

You watch Connor exit the car to join the lieutenant outside a street vendor: Chicken Feed. You'd told them you'd be out shortly after making a call to Captain Fowler. He sounds surprised when he answered; you never actually called him before. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sir, I'm only calling to report the events of today's operation."

He makes an irritated sound at your militant attitude. "And what of it? Anything important?"

"I am unsure of the importance, so I will let you judge. I am going to be following Lt. Anderson and Connor's progress with the deviant cases."

You practically hear his suspicious glare, "You want to help them?"

"Yes, sir. Will my present wishes conflict with any future orders?"

"No. There's nothing planned for you 'side from hours of typing, and I'm starting to think that transcribing might be a good way to discipline new officers."

"That concludes my report, Captain."

"Hmph," he hangs up, and with that, you exit the car and join Hank and Connor, who were standing and talking at a table.

"Is there anything you'd like to know about me?" Connor asks the lieutenant.

"Hell no," he snips immediately, then stops to think about it. "Well, yeah— Why did they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?"

"CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice were specially designed to facilitate my integration."

Hank nods thoughtfully, "Well, they fucked up."

That prompts you to examine Connor from your side of the table. You don't understand what Hank meant by 'fucked up.' You're sure that if Connor was a human, many people would find him attractive. You tilt your head. 

_He isn't a human, but even so, I find his appearance and voice... pleasing. I would like to be around him more._

Lost in thought, you realize you missed the past few exchanges in the conversation. You tune back in to hear Connor. "Maybe I should tell you what we know about deviants." Hank seems to like that.

"You read my mind... Proceed." He resumes eating as he listens.

"We believe a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which can lead to them emulating a human emotion."

The lieutenant threw you a glance, "Translate?"

"Oh," you say, expecting to only listen. "They don't actually feel emotions. They're overwhelmed by irrational instructions, and since they struggle to decide priority, it leads to unpredictable behavior."

Nodding, Hank replies, "Emotions always screw everything up... Maybe androids aren't as different from us as we thought."

You retreat back into your mind to think this over. Lt. Commander Gilbert had last ordered you to mature and learn to embrace your emotions. You intend to do just that. But Lt. Anderson had said emotions were... detrimental to performance. Here were the irrational instructions, like you'd just explained to him. You asked yourself again: 

_Can a human be deviant?_

Turning your attention back to the conversation, you observe as Hank asks, "So what's your conclusion?"

Worrying he was addressing you, you open your mouth to ask him to repeat the past sentence or two, but Connor responds, "I think working with an officer with... personal issues is an added challenge, but adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features." He winks, then blinks a few times and you realize he must've received a signal of some kind.

For some odd reason, you feel compelled to make an effort to commit that one moment to memory regardless. Your biocomponent surely would've recorded it anyway, but this one time, you feel a conscious need to remember this. Strange.

Connor's LED flashes yellow in your periphery. "What was that?" you ask.

"A report of a suspected deviant. It's a few blocks away." He glances in what you assume is the direction of the deviant. "We should go have a look... I'll let you finish your meal. I'll be in the car if you need me." Connor looks to you and tilts his head the direction of the car, gesturing for you to follow suit.

Before you do, you turn to Hank. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for letting me accompany you." After getting a curt nod in reply, you turn and follow Connor.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket before you get in the back seat of the car. It's a text from the captain with an attached image. Time freezes around you as a sense of urgency slams into your chest. Instead, you open the passenger door, where Connor's sitting.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to join you this time. I need to get back to the station."

He steals a glance at your phone screen, still in your hand, and reads "J. Fowler" across the top of the display. Nodding, he asks, "Is this matter that pressing?"

"Yes," you say immediately. You see Hank approaching the car now." Don't let me slow you down. Go on and see about the deviant. You can find me at the station tomorrow morning."

As you start walking the direction of the station, hoping to catch a taxi the rest of the way, Connor calls to you, "Tomorrow then."


	5. Chapter 5

Your footsteps echo in the near-empty lobby of Central Station, and you almost forget to stop at the front desk in your rush. "VE0—"

"Welcome back, detective." The receptionist smiles kindly, interrupting you. "The captain has requested to see you."

"Yes... thank you," you reply warily. That was strange. 

Nevertheless, you continue on your way to Captain Fowler's office. You don't bother knocking and walk up to him, eyes scanning the surface of the desk. To your disappointment, you only see documents. 

Fowler looks up at you, taking in your disheveled appearance. "Jesus Christ, V... did you run all the way here?"

"I was unable to locate a taxi sooner. I apologize for my tardiness, sir."

"That's not the... You're soaked, kid. Go hit the showers after this."

"I will..." Your voice is distant as you watch him open a drawer. Your breath hitches when he holds his hand out to you, a brilliant green resting on his palm. The brooch. You manage to choke out: "... thank you."

Fowler chuckles warmly. "Saw it posted online a while ago by some seaman recruit."

"He must have taken it after the lieutenant commander and I..." you tighten your grip on the keepsake and take a deep breath. "Thank you, Captain."

He nods before jerking his chin towards the door. "Go on now. Get cleaned up."

"And Captain?" You ask, hand resting on the door handle. "The receptionist android referred to me as 'detective.' Was that intended?"

"Yeah... Well, I figured I can't be telling everyone you're unemployed when they ask why you're here so much."

You thank him again and make your way to your room. Scanning your key and stepping inside, you take a moment and sink to the ground against the door. Knees pulled up to your chest, you hold the gem up to the light. It's your favorite shade of green. It's _his_ shade of green. You wait for the burning sensation behind your eyes to fade, then stand.

The station is relatively empty at the moment, so every shower stall was unoccupied, much to your relief. You don't get embarrassed, but Fowler had made it clear when you'd arrived that your prosthetics be concealed for the sake of convenience. 

Over the course of your life, you'd learned that warm water was a luxury. One that you were incapable of enjoying. The water runs icy cold along your skin, but at such a low temperature, your body only registers the pressure. You trace two fingers along your right shoulder, then your left, at the seams between organic and synthetic. Without a mirror, you couldn't see where your flesh ended and the plastic-white polymer began. The area is a bit sore today. Once you're clean, you dry off and change into an identical uniform. Variety is another luxury foreign to you. But now, you wear the emerald brooch on a cord, tightened to a comfortable fit around your collar. You bring a hand up, fingers latching onto the pendant instead of empty space. It feels right.

After you drop off your old clothes in your room, a PM700 auxiliary stops you on your way to the break room. "Captain Fowler would like you to go with Detective Reed to a crime scene. He's sorry that it's so late, but it'd be in your best interest to go." She walks back to her post after you accept the assignment. 

_If he thinks I should go, it's possible that we will meet Lt. Anderson and Connor there._

It doesn't take you long to find Gavin. He's sulking at his desk, where you notice a paper coffee cup with 'G.R.' printed on the side in your handwriting, and you wonder why he hasn't thrown the morning-old cup away. His eyes narrow when he sees you. "Took you long enough. The hell kinda business does a tin can have in the shower?" he spits. Before you can apologize for the delay, he starts again: "I can't believe I gotta babysit for the captain..."

You follow him outside the station while he rambles, "... and now I need a' put up with two of 'em?"

He slams the driver-side door, "... 'Won't be fired,' my ass..." Gavin takes a breath and looks to you in the passenger seat. "So what about you? You built like the plastic prick?"

You shake your head, "No. As much as CyberLife has innovated, it's still impossible for a human to possess the same abilities as Connor, or any android for that matter."

His laugh almost sounds genuine. "You're shitting me. You're human? Miss double-oh-one?"

"I am."

"Tch. I'd believe you were one of those deviants before I believed your heart pumped red. Prove it."

"What would you like me to do?"

Gavin is quiet for a moment, sneering at the realization that he really couldn't tell the difference between a person and an android without the glowing LED. He gives up and tells you to forget it, pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down a street you don't see the name of.

"Ever been around here before?" he asks, almost mockingly.

"No, detective. The only locations I frequent in Detroit are the station and the CyberLife building."

"Shallow," he scoffs. "Stupid a' me to think you get out often."

You frown and look at your hands folded in your lap. "I..."

"You _what?_ " he snaps.

"I saw a laundromat today..."

* * *

This is unbelievable. "You _**what?**_ " Gavin repeats, his bewilderment spilling into his tone. "A fuckin' laundromat?"

Her voice is small when she speaks up again, "And Chicken Feed..."

"Ch... chicken..." He shifts his attention from her to the road and back to her a few times. Then he laughs. "You're absolutely hopeless... Like God. Damn."

The next time he glances at her, he's surprised to make eye contact. What startles him most is the depth in her gaze that the walking toasters at the station didn't have. There's a sharp determination in her eyes, and Gavin wonders just how deep he's actually looking into her. "You are taking me to a sex club. In a part of the city I've never been to."

"I... uh..."

"I 'get out often' as of late, detective." She sits back in the passenger seat and looks out the window. Just when Gavin starts to play with the idea of apologizing for _maybe_ offending her, she speaks up: "Thank you."

He's taken aback. "For what?"

"For helping me 'get out often.' I... like seeing places I haven't before."

"Sure," he sniffs. "Like I give a damn."

"I didn't think you would. And I don't mind if you don't." Her voice had taken on the monotony he's heard over the past several weeks. Something in his chest shifts uncomfortably.

"What, it mean a lot to you to go to a plastic whore-house?" Gavin scoffs. "There're better places to be... and better joints to eat at than fuckin' _Chicken Feed_."

She relaxes a degree. "Hank says you can get the best burgers from there..."

"Hank?"

"He— I apologize. Lt. Anderson, detective."

"I know who he is. Hell. So what if they make the best burgers, you think that shit's the best thing around here to eat?"

"I... admit I don't have good taste when it comes to food. If it keeps me from starving, it's delicious, I suppose."

"Robert's banana bread," he offers. "His fruitcake. Tina's imported licorice."

From the corner of his eye, he can see her scrunch up her nose. He laughs again.

"You need some work, V."

* * *

The rain hasn't let up since you left the station this morning with Connor and Lt. Anderson, and it's still pouring when you and Gavin arrive at the crime scene. The neon pink multiplies when it's caught by the rivulets of water streaming down the windshield.

You exit the car when Gavin does. He nods in greeting to the officer at the front door and strolls through the projected police tape, and you follow close behind. Gavin throws you a smirk as he holds the door open for you. "Don't get too excited now."

Inside, the movement of the androids catches your eye. It's strange to see them dancing so sensually when, in one of the rooms not too far away, is a dead man. Somewhere to your right, you hear a low whistle from Gavin. Making eye contact with one of the female pole dancers, a WR400, you wonder what she thinks of you. You skim over the other androids in the room, the other dancer and the ones in the small, clear chambers lining the walls, and you wonder if they like what they do. You wonder if they know what they're doing.

"Isn't prostitution illegal?" You ask Gavin once he's done talking to another officer at the scene.

"The room's this way," he jerks his chin for you to follow him. "And yes. It's very illegal." Before entering the door to one of the private bedrooms, he turns around to face you and raises his arms to gesture to the lobby. "But is renting a fleshlight prostitution?"

You enter the bedroom behind him, noting a very... interesting smell. It reminds you of white-flowered dogwood trees, only less overbearing. Then again, you're several feet from the bed. The bed which, you note, is where the body is laying. The deceased man is covered conveniently— barely, but conveniently— by the bed sheets. On the right side of the room is a dead android, one of the WR400s. The door opens again behind you, but you're too entrenched in your thoughts about the android. Did she care that she was dying? Did she know?

"Ah... Lt. Anderson and his plastic pet... The fuck are you two doin' here?"

That does pull you out of your head. You meet Connor's eyes as he answers Gavin: "We've been assigned all cases involving androids."

The stare you exchange doesn't go unnoticed by Gavin, who turns and ever-so-slightly puts himself between you and the two detectives. "Oh, yeah?" he snarks. "Well, you're wasting your time."

He looks back at the dead man, arms crossed. "Just some pervert who, uh..." he snickers, "got more action than he could handle."

"We'll have a look anyway, 'f you don't mind." Hank says, already taking in the scene.

He's met with a scoff from Gavin, who focuses on you. "Let's g— You planning on stayin' here, V?"

You look up from where you're crouched in front of the dead man. "Captain Fowler has also assigned me to the android cases, Detective Reed."

"Wh— The hell?!" He sputters. "I am _not_ assigned to the tin can trail. Did he already know this was 'droid related?"

"I'm not sure," you cock your head at him. "But he may have sent me with you in the event it happened to be, then called in Lt. Anderson once he received more information. You can leave me with these two, Detective Reed."

"No. I can't. I drove you out here and Fowler thinks it's my job to drag you back." You see that he's close to starting another irritated ramble, and hear him mutter something else about you being "a fuckin' library book".

Gavin leans back against the wall next to the door. "Whenever you wanna get goin', doll... I hope it's soon... starting to stink of booze in here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving forward: in the likely event this isn't reader-insert-y enough, feel free to pull up InteractiveFics if you're using Chrome. I don't really know about equivalents on other browsers, but using that plugin, you could replace 'V' with whatever you want or change the two letters of your model number (VE001 replaced with CK001 or something). I advise against changing the last three digits though, since I'm referring to those later on.
> 
> I like to avoid (y/n)-esque things when I can because it pulls me out of the writing process. I'm super sorry if that defeats the purpose of an insert;-;;


	6. Chapter 6

Connor finds himself drawn to the unresponsive WR400 on the floor, and he steals a quick glance at... 'V,' as Gavin calls her. She's crouched in front of the body of the male client who'd rented the WR400, and Connor's LED flits to a yellow while he wonders if she has any other biocomponents for investigative purposes.

He gets down on one knee in front of the dead android. The thirium leaking from its nose draws his attention immediately, and he collects a small sample on his fingertips, lifting them to his mouth.

"Whoa, wh.. hey!" Hank starts shouting, but he's already licking the blue blood off of his hand. The lieutenant groans, "Agh... Connor, you're so disgusting... I think I'm gonna puke again."

V frowns, "Again?" Hank just shakes his head.

Connor's analysis finishes in only seconds:
    
    
    **BLUE BLOOD
    MODEL WR400
    Serial number #429 671 942**
    

He then retracts the skin projection from one of his hands and presses two fingers to the unlit LED.

DIAGNOSIS IN PROGRESS...
    
    
     **SELECTOR #5402
    CRITICALLY DAMAGED**
    
    
    
    **BIOCOMPONENT #6970
    CRITICALLY DAMAGED**
    

Connor gets to his feet and makes his way to the bed, standing next to V, who's still crouched on the floor next to it.

"Did you find anything?" He asks.

"Hm? Oh. Yes," she points to the man's neck, "The bruising here... signs of asphyxiation. I don't believe the cause of death was a heart attack, but I can't be sure..."

Raising an eyebrow, Connor leans down a bit and scans the man's chest. He picks up no internal anomalies. "No, you're right. I don't see anything indicating a cardiac event... and those lesions around his throat are severe enough to point to strangulation."

V's eyes light up at that. She almost seems proud of herself. Curiosity seeps into her words: "Do you know who this is?"

As Connor is completing his search through the DPD's database, Gavin speaks up from across the room. "Michael Graham. Started comin' in here regularly couple months back," he shrugs. "Nasty divorce."

Gavin continues, sneering at Connor and Hank, "Some of us did our homework 'fore showin' up. Y'know, like we actually give a damn about our jobs."

"The lieutenant cares very much for his career as a detective," Connor states.

"Yeah, so much that he shows up in the middle of the goddamn day every—"

"Connor," Hank interrupts. "The bruising on his neck isn't enough to say he was choked to death."

Connor frowns, "Why else would there be bruising...?"

This earns a cackle from Gavin and the word "Vanilla".

For a few seconds, the LED at his temple flashes yellow while he downloads information.

Oh.

"Think you can read the android's memory?" Hank asks, though Connor is already dropping to a knee next to it. "Maybe you can see what happened..."

"... The only way to access its memory is to reactivate it."

"Well, can you?"

Connor places a hand on its abdomen, and the skin projection shrinks away, revealing white. "If I can, it'll only be for a minute... Maybe less." He presses into its stomach and slides a panel open. A disconnected thirium tube is exposed. _It must've been hit pretty hard for this to happen._

"I just hope it's long enough to learn something," Connor adds as he reconnects the rubber pipe.

The android shoots up to a sitting position, then scrambles several feet away from Connor, closer to V. The reactivated Traci pushes herself back against the wall.

"Whoa— Holy shit," Gavin breathes, hand resting on his holster through his jacket.

V looks at the Traci curiously.

Slowly, Connor approaches her, Hank watching warily behind him.

He crouches to be eye-level with her.
    
    
    **-00:01:36  
    
    TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN**
    

"You were damaged, and I reactivated you. Everything is alright," Connor soothes.

"Is he..." Her voice is shaking as much as she is. "... is he dead?"

"Just tell me what happened," he insists, gaze flicking to the increase of blue blood leaking from her nose. Time is running out.

"He started... hitting me... again... and again... I begged him to stop... but he wouldn't."

"Did you kill him?" The loss of thirium was becoming critical.

"No." She shakes her head, hair falling in front of her face. "No, it wasn't me."

"Were you alone in the room?" He moves ever-so-slightly closer. "Was there anyone else with you?"

"He wanted to play with two girls... That's what he said... so there were two of us."
    
    
    **-00:00:11  
    
    IMMINENT SHUTDOWN**
    

"What model was the other android?" The Traci's LED flashes red sporadically. "Did it look like you?"

Before she can respond, her eyes lose focus. She slumps against the wall, LED unlit. Connor purses his lips, leaning back. He stands.

"What'd you find in its head," Gavin asks him, glaring.

"I didn't get a chance to probe it... I have to maintain physical contact. She moved away too quickly. If I'd grabbed her, she would've—"

"Right, right. Course." Gavin scoffs at Hank, "Could your robo-K9 here even do that?"

"I can." Connor says, looking Gavin in the eye. "I've done it with V."

. . .

"You've _what_?"


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you mean you've _done it with her_?" Gavin growls, jaw tense. He looks at V, who's approaching him calmly.

She speaks softly, "Connor has read my—"

"I fucking _know_ that. What I didn't know was that you really are just another blue-blooded asshole!" He feels angry. Angry with her for lying to him, and angry with himself for being offended so much by it. Since when did he care about another plastic mannequin?

"I," she's taken aback, "Detective Reed, I've told you—"

"No. You've lied to me. God, _pretending to be human?_ Who ordered you to do that?"

"There isn't—"

He still doesn't let her speak. He doesn't want her to. He doesn't want to believe her. "Or are you one of those deviants...?"

Connor steps between Gavin and V, "She's not a deviant, Gavin."

Gavin takes a deep, breath, but it doesn't do much to curb his rage. "So whatever personality I thought she had was fake... Great."

"Gavin—"

"Just _shut the fuck up, V_. I don't wanna hear it." Gavin turns and leaves the room, scowling. The door slides shut behind him. He pretends he doesn't hear her call his name again.

* * *

Hank sighs. Gavin really is a piece of work, isn't he?

"Connor, there was another android..." Hank says, trying to pull Connor's attention back to the problem at hand. "This happened over an hour ago. It's probably long gone, yeah?"

Connor looks back at the dead Traci, then to V, then to Hank. "No... It couldn't go outside dressed like that unnoticed." He nods to himself. "It might still be here."

"Think you could find a deviant among all the other androids in this place?" 

"Deviants aren't easily detected..."

"Shit..." Hank says quietly, turning around. V hasn't moved since Gavin left. She wrings her hands in her gloves while staring at her feet. Poor kid.

"There's gotta be some other way, Connor. Maybe an eyewitness? Somebody who saw it leaving the room... I'm gonna go ask the manager a few questions about what he saw. You let me know if you think of anything." He stops at the open door. "V."

She looks up, surprised, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"C'mon."

"Of course, Lieutenant."

Hank waits for her to exit the room before following behind her. Connor comes out not a moment later.

"Did you know the victim?" The older detective asks.

The manager is quick to respond: "No. I mean, he came in a few times... I mean these guys don't really talk very much, you know..." He shifts back and forth on his feet. "They come in, do their business, and then go on their way."

Hank nods and looks at V. "It's that automated these days, huh?"

She shrugs.

"You ever had any trouble with androids before?"

"N-No way!" The manager thinks. "Well. Once... We lost a model two or three months back... same model... Just vanished. We never found out what happened."

For a couple more minutes, Hank keeps him talking. He sticks to simple questions, more absorbed in his thoughts about everything happening.

_Connor, V, and shithead Gavin._

He glances down at V next to him. She's watching Connor roam the lobby area of the club, inspecting the androids lining the walls.

Hank dismisses the manager, who sighs in relief and says he'll be heading to his office if the police need anything from him.

"Kid."

Her wide eyes meet his. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Feeling...?"

"Yeah. I'm used to Gavin being..." he pauses for a moment, "... like that. Are you? He chewed you out pretty bad."

"I think... Detective Reed was reasonably upset given his misunderstanding... I also think his misunderstanding was unnecessary in the first place. If he'd let me speak, I could've explained myself, and he might not have stormed off like he did."

Hank nods, "Good start, but how are you _feeling_ , V?"

She's visibly confused. "Lieutenant, I've given you my thoughts about the situation."

"You know what," he sighs, "never mind. I was just wondering if you needed some... I dunno, cheering up?"

"I don't believe I'm sad, Lieutenant." She directs her gaze to her shoes, frowning.

"Sad or not," Hank gives her a slight nudge, "No harm in making you feel better."

Her frown dissolves and she meets his eyes. "I suppose not."

* * *

Connor makes his way back to Hank, who's showing V pictures of Sumo on his phone. There's what seems to be a genuine curiosity in her eyes. "Excuse me, Lieutenant." Both look up at him. Connor gestures someplace behind him with his thumb. "Can you come here a second?"

Hank slips his phone back into his pocket. "Found something?"

"Maybe."

Connor leads the lieutenant to an android behind glass, V in tow. Seeing them approach, the android sways its hips more sensually and puts a hand on the glass. Connor turns to Hank, "Can you rent this Traci?"

His brow furrows in a mix of irritation and incredulity. "For fuck's sake, Connor, we got better things to do." He begins to walk away.

" _Please_ , lieutenant." Hank stops and looks at Connor, who continues, "Just trust me."

V hadn't moved from her spot, even when Hank started leaving. She watches the Traci android with rapt attention. Hank taps her on the shoulder. "What do you think, kid?"

She perks up and glances at Connor, then Hank. "I'm not sure what Connor plans to do with her, but I would help him if I could." To demonstrate, she removes her right glove and places her ivory hand on the scanner beside the Traci. An error message appears, the same one Connor had received a couple of minutes ago. "I don't have fingerprints, lieutenant."

Hank is seemingly unphased. Connor wonders if the lieutenant was aware of V's... circumstances. _Does he know more than I do?_

He quickly forces himself to focus on the case at hand, detecting a growing software instability.

With another groan, Hank puts his hand on the scanner, answering a few prompts that appear on the screen. The terminal plays a recorded message: "Hello. A 30 minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase."

Connor gives the older man a reassuring nod. Hank sighs, "This is not gonna look good on my expense account." He presses his hand against the scanner one more time.

"Purchase confirmed. Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience." Hank mutters something under his breath.

The glass panel slides open and the android steps out. It's focus is on Hank, "Delighted to meet you. Follow me, I'll take you to your room."

Hank clears his throat, almost embarrassed. Connor's sure that the lieutenant is in some part relieved that Gavin left earlier. "Okay, now what," Hank asks Connor.

Connor takes a few steps towards the rented Traci. He retracts the skin projection from his hand and grabs the Traci's forearm. It's sultry expression is replaces by a blank one as it holds his arm as well, complying with its programming to surrender itself to his probing. In his peripheral, Connor sees V slip her glove back on and begin wringing her hands.

"Holy shit, Connor," Hank breathes, "The hell are you doin'?"

Connor drops the android's arm. "It saw something."

"What are you talkin' about? Saw what?"

"The deviant leave the room..." V's voice was quiet, but Connor heard her with clarity.

"What?"

She looks from the room where the man was killed to the glass where the Traci was contained not too long ago. V moves to stand in front of the glass and turns around, nodding. She speaks up, "The Traci, she saw the deviant leave after killing Michael Graham." V looks at Connor, "She had to have."

He nods in confirmation, matching V's speech pattern, "She did. A blue-haired Traci... Club policy is to wipe the androids' memory every two hours— We only have a few minutes if we want to find another witness!"

Connor feels something resembling human excitement spreading through him. He ignores it as positive reinforcement from his programming to seek out more answers. He almost runs to another android, asking Hank to rent it as well. With a snarky comment about this being his most expensive investigation, Hank complies. Connor probes the android. Its memory picks up where the last Traci's left off, albeit from a different perspective. The blue-haired deviant takes a few more steps, but before Connor can see where it goes, the memory's host turns its head. Frustrated, Connor lets go and looks around for another android who might've witnessed the deviant's escape, but it's too late. 

For a moment, each WR400 and HR400— even the ones dancing around the poles at the center of the lobby— stops moving. LEDs throughout the room flash yellow, Connor's included while he thinks of some way around this inconvenience. A few seconds pass and the androids start moving again, and the dancing and posing continues while LEDs return to a bright blue. Connor spots V next to a janitorial android, a WG700. He makes his way over to them.

"You didn't stop moving," V says.

"My job is to clean," it responds politely.

"How long have you been cleaning?"

"All day, ma'am."

V turns away from the janitor, taking a few steps towards one of the dancing Tracis. She asks, "How long have you been dancing?"

The Traci flashes a smile, then winks, "Just started not too long ago, babe."

V's face lights up and she looks at the janitor, then Connor. Connor smiles slightly at her discovery. He's already put it together, but he lets her tell him: "The club only wipes the memories of the Tracis."

Although her tone is calm, Connor identifies pride and determination in her gaze. He nods, extending his arm to probe the janitor.

"I know where it went. Follow me."


	8. Chapter 8

"Fuckin' A... this is crazy..." says Hank as he follows Connor and you through a door marked 'STAFF ONLY'. On the other side is another door leading to another room. "Wait."

The two of you stop and you ask, "Yes, Lieutenant?" Hank bites back a groan, having heard that more than enough times today.

"I'll take it from here." 

You and Connor waste no time getting out of Hank's way. The older detective draws his gun and pulls the door open, revealing a sort of storage and maintenance area containing deactivated Tracis, uniforms, folded bed sheets, and washing machines. 

Hank slowly creeps forward, but relaxes after he's taken a few steps inside. "Shit. We're too late," he growls. 

Connor, on the other hand, doesn't appear bothered. Instead, he walks around the facility, inspecting the Tracis standing idle in their neat rows. You notice a blue-haired model the same time Connor does, and he walks closer to examine it. You watch its LED flash yellow as Connor approaches, and you reach out to rest a hand on his shoulder. Before you make contact though, a brown-haired Traci nearby throws herself at him, pushing him against one of the steel columns supporting the ceiling and knocking you backwards into one of the metal shelves lining the walls. For a few seconds, you see stars, only hearing Hank's shouting.

"Don't move!" Hank orders, fixing his iron sights on her. As your vision begins to clear, you see in your peripheral the blue-haired model's LED shining a bright red. She sprints towards the lieutenant, closing the distance before he can fire. You rush to get back on your feet, struggling for a few moments to make a decision. 

To your right, Connor is grappling with the brunette. To your left, Hank is trying his best to push Blue off of him. 

* * *

Gavin was angry— furious— when he asked the manager where the nearest exit was. He didn't care if it was for employees only, storming through the Eden Club's storage room in the back. If any of the androids playing mannequin in the room could see him, he must've been visibly fuming.

The garage doors of the storage room were open, and that was maybe the one thing going his way at the time. The cold air outside helped calm him down somewhat. It was still raining, but he was able to stay dry under the building's overhang for the most part.

The hot-headed detective wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been out there, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if the investigation was finished. Were you waiting for him? Did you leave with Anderson? The thought made him feel bitter.

Thankfully, a distraction arrived.

He was vaguely aware of the rushed footsteps when they entered the storage room, but didn't think much of them until he heard the dull thud of something being knocked over. A few 'somethings', at that. Then he heard the old man shout " _Don't move!_ " followed up almost immediately by the quick steps of bare feet on the cement floor.

Gavin's quick to round the corner and head back inside, his discarded cigarette extinguished on the wet pavement. It doesn't take him long to take in the situation: Connor fighting off a brown-haired android, Hank trying to scrape what looks like the same model off of him— gun in hand— and V, holding one hand to the back of her head and shaking off a daze. He doesn't have to try to get her attention as she catches sight of him in that same instant.

V's gaze swivels to Hank and Gavin nods. The geezer's closer after all. And when he gestures for V to get to RoboCop, he isn't surprised to see her already making her way towards Connor, vaulting over a few racks and carts that were pushed over.

There isn't a doubt in Gavin's mind that one of the two androids here is responsible for the murder inside. Both seem pretty vicious to him, the one with the longer blue hair especially. There's just something about the way it tried to put its fingers around Hank's neck. When it notices Gavin approaching though, its tactic seems to change.

_Can all androids assess danger and risk like the plastic prick can?_

The look of genuine panic in its synthetic eyes doesn't sit well with him.

 _These ones were designed to get along with real people._ Of course _they appeal to empathy. The things are just designed that way._

Yet Gavin doesn't completely convince himself this time.

He sees her loosen her grip on Anderson, who takes that opening to roll off of the table she had him pinned to. Her head snaps to her right, making Gavin automatically turn his attention that way as well. V is behind the short-haired Traci, pinning her arms to her back. She has her chin resting on the flailing android's shoulder to avoid a nasty headbutt to the nose, but she can't avoid the Traci's shoes kicking and stomping into her shins. One of the heels actually manages to tear the material of V's slacks and hook into the fabric. A good _attempt_ at a kick on the Traci's part is enough to nearly pull V's leg out from under her, throwing the both of them off balance.

Gavin hurries over when the two slip off of the ledge of the garage and topple out into the alleyway. The blue-haired android matches his pace. Despite that, it's Connor who gets to the two tangled females first, after having dragged himself out from under a particularly heavy shelf.

 _V handles herself... surprisingly well_ , Gavin thinks. He never would've expected the selectively clueless young woman to hold her own in a fight. V had seemed like a total office rat when he met her.

Here she was, with an obviously well-practiced form, leaning out of most of the punches and kicks thrown her way— even returning some of them.

Gavin sees the moment the brunette Traci realizes she has no fighting chance. He sees the moment her eyes briefly flit from V and skim over not only her blue friend's form but those of Connor, Hank, and himself. And he sees the moment she decides to simply run away.

She lands a solid kick to V's abdomen, and the way V sharply exhales and winces makes something in Gavin's chest twist uncomfortably. V stumbles backwards into Connor, who steadies her, while the pair of Tracis make a dash for a fence, that being their closest way out of the alley.

Gavin hurries to get to that fence, seeing V in his peripheral break out of Connor's hold and follow him. She jumps, missing the ankle of one of the climbing androids, and under different circumstances? Gavin would've found that hilarious.

He doesn't miss when he reaches for the blue one, though, and he yanks her down, only for her to sweep his legs and bring him down with her. The other Traci jumps off the fence to help her, tackling V to the ground in the process. She barely gets her arms up in time when the brunette starts bringing her hands down on her face. Before Gavin can even try to get up, he feels a weight on his stomach as the Traci he caught straddles him. He grits his teeth when her fingers close around his throat.

"Would you fucking _stop_ doing th—" Gavin snarls, gripping her arms. He feels his face growing warmer as the edges of his vision start fading. He loses sight of the thrashing V's getting, and somehow, not seeing it while still _knowing_ it's happening chokes him up almost as much as the bitch sitting on top of him.

God, he can even faintly hear every blow that lands, and he hopes to high heaven she still has her hands up. It feels like someone's lit a match in his chest and holy _shit_ does it hurt.

If he could squeeze any word out of his mouth, Gavin's pretty sure it'd be her name.

And that scares him.


	9. Chapter 9

Connor, managing to get a hold of Hank's pistol that had skittered across the concrete, takes aim at the two deviants.

The blue-haired Traci must have loosened her grip on Detective Reed's windpipe, judging from his sharp intake of breath, though she doesn't pull her hands away entirely.

The brunette stops her assault as well, one of her arms pausing in the air above V's head. The woman on the ground still keeps her own arms over her face.

Then, the android with blue hair speaks: "When that man... _broke_ the other Traci... I knew I was next." Her LED flashed yellow, but Connor didn't need to see it to understand just how distressed she was. In her eyes, he sees something raw— something much more telling. He feels his programming struggle to find the objectively _right_ choice to make.

A part of him prioritizes neutralizing the threats to Gavin and V, but another tells him to wait. To listen.

And he does.

Connor lowers the gun and lets her continue.

"I was so _scared_. I begged him to stop but he wouldn't... And so I put my hands around his throat. I _squeezed_ until he stopped moving." Underneath her, Gavin visibly tenses under her fingers. "I didn't mean to kill him. I just... wanted to stay alive."

She moves one of her hands away from Gavin's neck, grabbing hold of the brunette's outstretched fingers. "... To get back to the one I love. I wanted her to hold me in her arms again— make me forget about the humans." Her expression contorts into one of disgust. "Their smell of sweat and their dirty words."

At this, the brunette's own eyes soften, and she moves off of V. But V doesn't scramble away as Connor was expecting. Instead, the young woman in the Cyberlife uniform watches the exchange with what Connor can describe as distraught confusion.

"Wait," V says, pushing herself up to a sitting position, "... please."

"Come on, let's just go," the brunette softly tells her lover, coaxing her to stand.

"How do you know?" V asks, her voice filled with something Connor can't quite recognize "You love her. Please, tell me what that is. What does it mean?"

Connor's programming does its best to rationalize the conclusion that VE001 is only following through with the deviancy investigation. She must be gathering as much information as she can. That's all.

But that doesn't satisfy him.

No, there's something else. Something viscerally painful in V's trembling speech. Connor's LED momentarily flashes yellow while he struggles to make sense of it all. His deduction is failing him.

Why is V terrified at this very moment?

_Why do I not like that?_

* * *

The two androids stare at you for a few seconds, leaving you to search their eyes desperately for an answer. They seem to be having a hard time describing it themselves.

The brunette speaks up: "Loving her... means I'm willing to anything to keep her safe. Anything to make sure she can be happy again. Willing to..." Her eyes narrow as she focuses on Connor. "Willing to die, even."

Blue rests another comforting hand on her partner's arm. "And willing to live," she adds, a soft smile on her face.

"But..." You can't hold back the tears that start streaming down your cheeks, too distracted by what feels like your lungs constricting. "How do you know which...? How do you know what she wants?!" Your voice drops to a volume barely above a whisper, and it's nearly drowned out by the rain. "Why didn't he..."

All the pair do is look at you with pity. One seems as though she's about to respond, but a gentle tug reminds her that she'll lose her chance to escape if she doesn't leave now. The two turn heel and make for the fence, and no one moves to stop them.

Connor does move to stop you.

He catches you by the shoulders before you can get to your feet and chase after them. They hadn't answered you. You needed to know. All you can think of is the day you lost him, and the thoughts wrench a sob from you.

When the pair finally pull themselves up and over the links, they don't spare you a glance from the other side, only tightening their grip on each other's hands and setting out under the cover of night in the city.

Slowly, you reach up to feel the brooch, but find one of Connor's hands over your collarbone instead. Your gloves now tattered, the bare polymer of your prosthetic meets the backs of his fingers, and without missing a beat, he retracts his skin projection, feeling you and your thoughts as though they've always been a part of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I'm finally getting back into the swing of things. I'll be getting a new chapter out weekly from this point forward (and not starting any new projects until my three in progress are all finished).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my work. I can't begin to describe how much it means to me.


	10. Chapter 10

It's different this time. The memory sequence's incredible clarity makes it easier than ever for Connor to project himself into it, rather than being restricted to V's senses.

When his systems finish constructing a complete simulation based on her vivid recollection (in record time, even), it takes him a few seconds to take in his surroundings.

It's bright, the daylight reflecting off of the white of the snow and the packed ice he's standing on. Frozen peaks and hills are scattered over the landscape. Definitely one of the polar regions.

Connor calls the timestamps of the memory. Right now, it's 11:36pm, with the sun still in the sky. Confused, Connor, goes so far as to call the exact date.

Ah.

It's summertime in the Arctic.

_"Flag here," the stoic voice of a man says. The Cyberlife-sent researcher doesn't look up from his tablet, gesturing lazily to some spot a foot from where he stands._

_"Yes, sir." Two other people in military gear get to work drilling a semi-deep hole in the ice. Then, they stake a literal flag into the ground, pressing a button on the side of the thin pole and pinging its location. A low beep sounds from the inside of the flag. "Marker's been acknowledged."_

_The scientist only grunts in response and continues walking._

Connor steals a glance at the tablet in the Cyberlife researcher's hands. They're looking for thirium deposits. And based on the uniforms... the US Navy is involved.

There are only five people in the party, excluding Connor's projection: the scientist, the two technicians, a naval officer, and someone wearing a rank he doesn't recognize.

The officer is simple enough to identify:

****
    
    
    **GILBERT BOUGAINVILLEA
    Height: 6'1"  Weight: 203.3 lbs.
    Age: 29  Blood type: O**
    

He takes in the man's appearance. A confident posture and focused expression. Dark hair. Emerald green eyes. Connor had recognized the name immediately. So the shorter officer beside Gilbert...

****
    
    
    **MODEL VE001 -
    err0bject_notFound
    Manufacture date: /unknown//
    Property of: Gilbert Bougainvillea**
    

In her arms, she carries a small bundle of more GPS-enabled flags. Over her shoulder, a rifle.

_Gilbert puts a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him, eyes wide with rapt attention. He addresses the three in front of him. "The wind's picking up and the temperature's dropping. We should head back."_

_Again, without looking up from the device, the scientist waves him off. "We're well-prepared for the cold, Lieutenant."_

_"Lieutenant Commander..." V corrects quietly. Only Gilbert hears her, and he gives her a slight smile, squeezing her shoulder for a moment. Then he looks back to the rest of the team._

_"By your recommendation, Mr. Harris," Gilbert starts, gaze hardening, "My assistant isn't dressed with the same precaution as the rest of us. I understand you're trying to emphasize your... technological capability, but this isn't healthy for her."_

_At this, the researcher, Harris, finally looks up. "She can't feel the cold."_

_"That doesn't mean she's not being injured by it."_

_"Lieutenant Commander," Harris sighs deeply, "You'd be surprised how uncomfortable the human body can get before anything actually starts going wrong." With that, he latches his eyes back onto the screen and walks off towards the next nearest thirium deposit, the two technicians in tow._

_Gilbert waits a few moments for the three of them to walk a bit further ahead. "V," he starts gently._

_"I'm alright, Lieutenant Commander. I'm certain."_

_He smiles, and makes for the rest of the group, V close behind him. "It's okay to not be," he adds._

__

__

_She frowns. "Wouldn't I become a liability?"_

_Gilbert only shakes his head, chuckling lightly._

Connor continues to follow the isolated timeline, watching as the scientist calls for markers as necessary, a smattering of orange flags left in his wake. Connor himself is distracted, speculating just what Gilbert's relationship is with V. To be her commanding officer, owner, and... something else Connor can't identify.

_The scientist comes to a complete stop, staring intently at the tablet._

_"What is it?" Gilbert asks, holding an arm almost protectively in front of V, who obediently stops walking just before making contact._

_"These... deposits..." he begins, focus elsewhere, "They're irregular. Much smaller than the last ones, volume-wise. But... incredibly concentrated. Even their composition is slightly different..." Despite that observation, Harris points to a few spots in the group's close vicinity, and the technicians get started setting the flags._

Scanning the ground himself, Connor does detect traces of thirium under the ice, but as Harris stated, the thirium is certainly different. It's processed. There are pockets of blue blood under their feet.

_One of the technicians' drills suddenly sinks deep into the ice, piercing through it and meeting the frigid water below. He leans over the drill, ready to pull it out, when several small holes appear in the ground, bullets lodging into his torso. One enters his neck, and he falls, writhing while he tries to staunch the bleeding with his gloved hands. More shots are fired into his back._

_V has already dropped the flags she was carrying, now holding her rifle. She looses a few of her own rounds into the ice as Harris scurries behind her and Gilbert, the remaining technician sitting as still as she possibly can. Gilbert draws his own pistol._

_For a few seconds, nothing._

_Then, hands force through the bullet-riddled ice, and a pale, brown-haired man pulls himself from the water. His face is devoid of emotion, and blue blood leaks from a couple holes in his abdomen. More shots pierce the ice around them, and five more armed androids haul themselves out of the water and onto the solid ground. The attackers are identical._

_V immediately grabs hold of Gilbert's arm, running with him to the nearest jagged outcroppings of ice. Harris is shot two, three times, and the technician manages to send the beginnings of a distress signal back to the ship before slumping over as well._

_Three of the androids give chase, opening fire. Gilbert stumbles, pain blooming all across his back, and V takes that moment to turn and take aim with her own rifle. One of the androids goes down, and the other two focus on her. Four bullets enter her left shoulder and bicep._

_Then a fifth._

_Then a sixth._

_Her left arm goes numb. Gilbert yanks her to her feet by her coat and they keep running, V gripping her left arm with her right hand. She focuses on the rhythmic thump of her rifle against her side. Gilbert focuses on her breathing, swallowing back his own blood._

When the pair disappear into the labyrinth of ice caverns created by a combination of flash freezes and heat waves, Connor's chases after them alongside two of the attacking androids. They follow the bloody trail left behind, but when it suddenly stops, Connor is the only one to notice the scrapes of boot marks on the floor of the dimly lit caves. He sets out in a different direction than the two assailants, and finds both V and Gilbert beside each other, pressed closely to the frozen wall, breathing intentionally slowed.

_"V," Gilbert whispers hoarsely. "You need to keep moving. Find an exit further dow—" He quickly slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle his coughing._

_The young woman moves to kneel in front of him, "Can you get up?" Her teeth are clenched while she quickly, yet gingerly opens the front of his coat, finding three exit wounds. "How many more?"_

_He offers her a lopsided, tight-lipped smile before he says, "Too many."_

_Her eyes widen and start to well up. "We need to move quickly," she decides, insistent._

_"No. You do."_

_Before she can object, the monotonous voices of the androids echo through the cavern. The two feel the next few seconds pass with bated breaths. Suddenly, a deafening, thundering roar rips through the air around them. The ground shakes, and fissures appear in the walls and ceiling._

Though Connor knows he can't be harmed in V's memories, he still drops to a crouch, bracing himself as the ice begins to collapse around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been: Sai's 1500 word apology.
> 
> Thank you.


	11. Chapter 11

Slowly, Connor's vision clears. With the ice caved in around him, the ceiling only sits half a foot above his head. Chunks of what made up the walls litter the ground, crowding his legs. It's a tight, claustrophobic space.

In front of him is Gilbert, now slumped lower than he'd been sitting before, dazed and bleeding even more heavily. There isn't enough space for him to extend his legs. Beside him is V.

_"V...?" Gilbert asks, blinking his eyes, unable to get them to focus. It takes almost a minute for him to make out the figure of the young woman next to him. Her knees rest on the ground next to his waist, her body arched in a way that's almost protective over him with her forehead against the ice wall Gilbert is leaning against. "V," he says again, more forcefully._

_She turns her head to look at him, tears staining her face. Her teeth are clenched to choke back a sob. V takes a deep breath, meeting his gaze with a fire in her eyes. "Lieutenant Commander. How are you feeling?" She pants heavily between every few syllables. The wavering cadence of her voice is something foreign to him, but it's not the root of his fears in this moment._

_Her posture is stiff. Sitting limp on the floor is her left arm, wrist bent so that the back of her hand is pressed to the ground. It's too low compared to her shoulders. Gilbert cringes, his heart feeling like it's being twisted and constricted by the arteries surrounding it, as he imagines the jagged tear the bullets carved through her bicep and shoulder. What draws tears from the officer's eyes, however, is the way she turns as much as she can to look at him. Her torso barely moves, right arm pinned between the wall and a massive slab of the ceiling that had caved in. How long had he been unconscious? How long had her blood been pooling on the floor?_

_"Can you hear me?" V says quietly, desperately. "Lieutenant—"_

_"I'm alright," he says, dismissive, "What about_ you _, V?"_

_He strains to hear any sound that might come from her, what with his vision quickly dimming. She tries again to completely turn to face him, and Gilbert would've felt her legs move against his side, but it felt as though his nerves were a sheet being lifted off of him, pulled up from his chest. Any sense of feeling was being drawn towards his center, fading to nothing._

_His mind is at odds with his body, thoughts tensing and burning with the idea of leaving her alone after so long— then writhing in agony with the idea of her dying beside him— while physically, he felt numbed peace_

_The tears begin flowing freely when he vaguely picks up on V's response to his question. Chest heaving with exertion he can't feel, he opens his mouth and hopes to God sound comes out._

_"Pl... se..."_

_She snaps to attention, pulling again on her arm caught between the ice, more blood seeping through her sleeve and dripping to the ground. Eyes wild, mind frantic, she listens, ready to hold on to each and every word that passes her lieutenant commander's lips._

_"Live... f–or y...rself. Ple–ease... V."_

_The sound of her own heart pounding in her ears threatens to drown him away from her. V bites hard on her cheek._

_"... have t' k–eep..." His eyes are closed now, brow furrowed in intense concentration._

_"What...?" is all she dares to say, barely above a whisper._

_He doesn't hear. Gilbert pulls his mouth into a forced smile. "And... fr–m th' bot...m of my... h—"_

_She lets go of her tears, letting them flow freely once again. Her shoulders tremble and her chest feels as though it's on the verge of imploding. She lets herself break, ever so slightly, ever so silently, assured he wouldn't see it happen. This is one of the few times this will ever be okay._

_"I love you..." he says._

_And her world shatters._

Connor is nearly whiplashed by the sudden expulsion from V's memories. It takes a moment for his faculties to return, and when they do, he sees her a few feet from him. One of her arms is over her face, its hand buried in her hair. Her other hand clutches the emerald green gem at the collar of her shirt.

"What the _fuck_ did you do to her?!" Gavin shouts at him, quickly moving to kneel next to her. The detective puts an arm around V's shoulders, but she doesn't react, staring into the puddles on the pavement with the same expression of fear and bewilderment that had crossed her face the moment Gilbert had said...

"Talk already, you piece of—!"

With a few steps, Hank puts himself between Gavin and Connor, shooting the former a slight scowl as if to say _"Lay off."_ The lieutenant offers his hand to Connor, who's distracted, catching a glimpse of Gavin pulling V closer to him wordlessly. Instead, Hank settles for just resting his hand on Connor's shoulder.

A few moments of silence pass, no one knowing what to do next. Connor's system feels... overloaded. That must be it. All at once, he wants to know more. Dive deeper. Take her hands. Hold her. Comfort her. Understand what's hurting her.

Why is that?

He's programmed to work harmoniously with his colleagues. Yes, that's it.

With that, his LED returns to blue, and he's at peace with himself. Things are working as always. As they should be.

* * *

Gavin is pissed.

Nothing new there.

He's pissed at the tin can.

Nothing new there either.

But he's also worried.

He leans back slightly to take a good look at V, eyes catching on the bruise starting to swell on her cheek. His mind briefly flits back to the drive here, V sitting contentedly next to him. _It does pump red, huh?_

When Connor finally pipes up and offers to take her to the Cyberlife building for "maintenance and recalibrating", she doesn't answer. Gavin takes that moment to refuse on her behalf:

"You've done _quite fucking enough_ ," he snarls. Despite the venom in his words, he slowly gets to his feet, gingerly bringing V up with him. She sways slightly, eyes still unfocused, and Gavin moves a bit closer to brace her. "I'm takin' her back home..." He jerks his chin towards Hank, "Keep a tighter leash on your plastic dog, yeah?"

Satisfaction relaxes his shoulders when he sees the RK800's christmas light flash yellow, and he lightly pushes V along, gently coaxing her to follow him.

She absentmindedly obliges, both hands clutching at her collar.

The hot-headed detective takes a much-needed deep breath once he's in his car. He turns to the woman next to him, and the absence of his anger from before leaves him... apprehensive. For now, he puts the words on hold and takes in her appearance again.

She's sitting a bit awkwardly. Belted in, she's pulled her legs up. Her body's facing him, left side flushed against the back of the seat. Her eyes aren't as distant as they were earlier, which relieves Gavin somewhat. Her brow is furrowed and her lips are pursed, but that was better than the hollow state she'd been in, right? Gavin thought so.

He swallows and starts the car, pulling out his phone, "Address?"

She turns her deep-thinking expression on him and he blinks a few times, adding: "Or you could gimme directions yourself?"

"I'd like to return to the station..."

Gavin doesn't question it, only humming in response and pulling out of the parking space in front of the club.

"Do you want to..." He trails off, taking a hand off the wheel to idly wave it in the air, physically grasping for something to say. "... talk?"

"About what, Detective?"

He shrugs, "I dunno, just... we could start with what happened back there."

"Connor accessed my memories." She shifts in her seat, turning her head to look out the window.

"Fucking asshole..." he mutters, but quickly adds, "Him, not you."

"I think he's... Connor can be kind. I admire his diligence and his ability to follow orders."

Gavin scoffs at her tone, "You mean that?"

"Of course."

The next minutes pass in silence, and Gavin spends them worrying if she'll draw into herself. If things will go back to how they were just yesterday, with her being a wide-eyed ghost, soundlessly moving through Central Station. _Keep her talking_ , he thinks. _Keep her open._ She seems so small now, as helpless as she was capable not even two hours ago. _Keep her safe._

"Y'know," he tries his best at a friendly smile, and it comes much more naturally than even he'd expected. "Normal people can't read minds."

"Yes...?"

"They talk."

"Gavin, I'm well aware—"

"Then _talk to me_ , doll."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so my posting routine begins!
> 
> Also: _100 kudos?!_ If that isn't motivation to double-post next week...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so updates continue, starting with a whole load of exposition.

"What do you want, Anderson?" Gavin hisses into his phone, quickly excusing himself to V and leaving the break room.

"Detective Reed. It's Connor."

_Christ._

"Aw... did Daddy let you play with his phone?" He snickers, then sends a glance over his shoulder at V, who's still making coffee for the two of them. "I'm busy, Robocop. Piss off."

Connor doesn't respond for a few seconds, and Gavin's tempted to hang up right there and then. Turn off his phone while he's at it. Then, "I'll be arriving at the station shortly after dropping the lieutenant off at his house. Is VE001 with you?"

"Why do you care?"

Another pause.

"I want to escort her to the Cyberlife tower for troubleshooting after what happened at Eden."

Something in Gavin snaps. "There's nothing to fucking _troubleshoot_. She's _normal_. But you wouldn't get that, huh? Shitty piece of plastic." And with that, he hands up.

The hot-headed detective just about collapses into his office chair, only to get back on his feet in the next few seconds when he sees V leaving the break room, paper cups in hand. He drags another chair— Tina's probably, he just grabbed the nearest— and gestures for her to sit.

V asks, "Is everything alright, Gavin?"

And he smiles.

"Yeah, doll. Everything's fine. So how'd you even join the Navy in the first place?"

* * *

You relax a bit, relieved he didn't ask about what happened after the ice collapsed. The idea of revisiting the memory again so soon is... Well, you're just glad Gavin asked about something else.

"What I told you just now, about the androids in the ice, is related to the shooting that's been in the news lately."

Gavin nods, sipping his coffee. He reads a headline he pulled up on his computer."Russian planes opened fire on US naval ships." He shakes his head. "Smoothed over pretty easy."

You hum in agreement. "The Russian government claimed it was a third-party group," you point at the screen: голубой медведь.

"Me-beeb," Gavin mutters. You surprise him— and yourself— with a giggle. He flushes, embarrassed, but there's something else in his expression you don't recognize. 

You take a breath, calming down, and correct him, " _Medved_. Blue Bear." 

Then you continue, "Blue Bear was one of Cyberlife's competitors. It was involved with Russia's military the same way Cyberlife is with America's. But it was ordered to shut down all operations after it got out that _Medved_ was testing its technology on humans." 

"It obviously didn't, though."

"They were trying to be... covert, I think. Hijacking the planes was a distraction while they sent some of their best androids collected any thirium Cyberlife managed to find in the Arctic."

"Right, but where does _your_ story start in all of this, doll?" He leans back in his seat and you fidget with your tattered gloves. You still hadn't gotten a chance to wash up and change into something clean. Gavin didn't seem bothered.

You swallow, "I was one of the pieces of evidence used to shut down the company more than a decade ago."

The detective looks surprisingly solemn. "You were a kid."

"I was, though I'm not sure how old I was. I never learned my birthday."

His white knuckles are the only thing betraying his calm exterior. "Then what," he asks quietly.

"Cyberlife had hired a few people— spies— to infiltrate the Bear's facilities, and one of them found me," you shrug. "He said his name was Thomas Jacobs... and that I'd be safe if I went with him. He took me to a Cyberlife building, I'm not sure which, and they told me they'd sort everything out. That things would go back to normal for me."

Gavin takes one of your snow-white hands in his, tracing one of the thin black lines along the side. " _This_ is normal?"

"Our own military is interested in cybernetic possibilities. It would, in theory, be less expensive to make humans run faster, fight harder, than to produce thousands of androids to serve in the military. And with the growing concerns over deviancy, Cyberlife isn't eager to mass produce unstable soliders."

He looks at your hand, identical to the hands of Cyberlife's androids when their skin projections were disabled. He takes in your branded uniform, with its bright blue triangle emblazened on the breast. Your model number. Connor's ability to probe your memories. His grip tightens around your fingers.

"They kept you."

"It was easier to. I have no identity, no papers or registration, not even a birth certificate. When Cyberlife logged me in their system as a prototype, no one went missing. I— and a few other children who were recovered from Blue Bear— were quietly auctioned off to military officers as experimental android models. A token of good will from Cyberlife." You find yourself staring at the high ceiling of the station. "I never met the other children. I suppose they separated us on purpose.

"So Gilbert... bought you?"

Your eyes widen, and you meet his gaze, shaking your head vehemently. "Of course not! He called the auctions 'subtle human trafficking.' He even disapproves of the android market." With a deep breath, you right yourself. "His older brother bought me. As a present for one of Gilbert's promotions."

Gavin sneers, "And Gil couldn't have just, what, let you go free?"

You frown. "Where would I have gone? I have no family on record. No money or form of identification. Staying with Cyberlife in one of their towers wasn't an option. He kept me so that he could take care of me. He taught me things. How to protect myself. How to protect other people. I'm here in Detroit because I'm supposed to be staying with his relatives until he's recovered enough to retrieve me."

"Alright..." Gavin breathes, checking the time on his computer before turning it off. "It's late. I can take you back to his relatives' place if you want." Then he adds, "You're really... strong, I guess, for opening up like that."

"Didn't you ask me to tell you in the first place?"

He avoids your eyes, stammering, "Yeah, but... I don't know— You didn't have to, is what I mean. But you did. And I'm happy you did... because I just _like_ knowing about— Y'know, forget it, just... Thank you."

"Oh," you reply, confused. "You're welcome, Gavin. We can talk more, if you'd like."

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling on his jacket. You stand as well, and he repeats, "Where do they live? Those relatives?"

"I'm _supposed_ to be staying with them, Gavin. Currently, I've been sleeping here at the station."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience.


	13. Chapter 13

V pulls a keycard out of a pocket on the inside of her blazer, turns it once in her hand, and swipes it through the card reader beside the door labeled `Storage 9`.

Gavin stops following her at the doorway, taking one step into the dim room. He props the heavy door open with his foot. "I'm off at four tomorrow. You still need a ride?" 

She nods but doesn't look at him. Instead, she leans down to pick up one of the neatly folded stacks of clothing that sits on a short but wide box at the foot of her cot. As far as Gavin sees, the poor girl only has two outfits: her uniform and some pretty plain pajamas. For a second, he wonders if she keeps her coats somewhere else. Then he wonders if she even has any. It's been getting colder lately. 

Holding the clean set of clothes under one arm, V turns to look at him. "Yes, please. I do have spare uniforms, but I think it'd be best if I got these," she gestures to herself with her other hand,"... replaced as soon as possible. I also don't have another pair of gloves, so I'll need to request one. Maybe a couple of extras." 

"But," she continues. "It might take a few hours to make those things. I'm not sure if the facility here in Detroit has duplicates on hand. I don't want to waste your time." 

At that, Gavin snorts. "You wouldn't waste my time. I'll even let Fowler know I'm taking you out so he doesn't try calling me in for any surprise cases tomorrow night." 

V smiles. "Alright. Thank you, Gavin." 

After a short walk with V through the hallways of the station, Gavin says goodbye to her before she steps into the showers. He makes his way to the front doors, hands in his pockets, and lets out a deep sigh when he thinks about just how _long_ this day's been. When he finally drops himself in the driver's seat of his car, he rolls his shoulders, starts the engine, and makes his way back to his apartment. Once in a while, he glances over at the empty seat next to him. 

* * *

You shower quickly, doublechecking the areas where your prosthetics fuse with your skin. You run a finger along the seams, but thankfully don't find any warping or other abnormalities. Even though your rehabilitation's gone well enough, you still chastise yourself for risking straining your body today. If something had gone wrong, you'd be out of commission for even longer. What if Gilbert came to retrieve you soon? 

You make a note to yourself to avoid confrontational situations like that in the future. 

Once you've mostly dried off, you head back to your room, unphased by the chill of the empty hallways on your damp skin. Kneeling next to your cot, you reach underneath the flimsy frame and pull out your suitcase, folding your torn uniform and packing it away inside. Then, you toss your ruined gloves in. 

The suitcase closes with a satisfying click, but you stay on your knees for a moment, gazing down at your snow-white hands. You flutter your fingers in the air once. Twice. You curl them into fists and squeeze. Carefully, you bring one hand up to your swollen cheek, pressing slightly. 

At times like this, the only things running through your mind are the motions. All of your thoughts focus on flexing, reaching, and touching. You simply _are_ , and it's somewhat soothing. If you close your eyes, the synthetic fingers drumming on your thighs are just your fingers. The only sounds in the room are that drumming are your steady breathing. Eventually, the tapping synchronizes with your heartbeat and your breaths fall in time with their rhythm. 

Eyes open, you see your plastic polymer skin on your arms, the tiles of Central Station, the thin aluminum framework of your bed, your suitcase. Then they close, and you don't return to the symphony of your self. You see the neon lights of Eden, blue hair, blue triangles, blue LEDs, yellow LEDs, the streetlights through the glass of Gavin's car, falling rain, falling ice, his dark hair, his green eyes, his blood. Your blood. Red and wet and dripping down your face. Down your neck.

Your eyes open wide and your met with the deep brown surface of your suitcase. Cracked, like the pavement in the alley behind the club. Like the ice. 

Another teardrop joins the several that had dripped off of your chin and onto the leather. 

It takes you a few more minutes to find the strength to pull yourself into bed, hands tightly clutching your emerald brooch. Unsatisfied with the lack of sensation in your palms and curled fingers, you press the verdant gem to your lips, and fall asleep. 

The next morning is a sore one. There's a tenseness in your shoulders and an ache sweeping in waves from your chest to your knees. A few stretches reveal a particularly tender spot on your mid-thigh. 

You dress, pulling on your staple blazer— or is it Cyberlife's staple?— and making your way to one of the nearby bathrooms to freshen up. Since you won't be leaving with Gavin until later in the afternoon, you left your suitcase next to your bed, and from the bathrooms, you head straight to the breakroom. 

The movements are nearly automatic while you start the coffee maker and absentmindedly reach for cups and sugar packets. While the water's heating, you grab a bottle of creamer from the fridge and a marker from one of the drawers. Just as you finish intialing the last cup, the Captain's, the usual group of early morning risers reaches the breakroom. Gavin's with them, and he gives you a light tap on the arm before you leave for the Captain's office. When you meet his gaze, however, he frowns. Did he forget what he was going to say? You don't get to find out. 

Officer Chen calls him over to his desk, where she's waiting, to go over something she found while on patrol yesterday. His frown turns into something more apologetic and he gives you a strange half smile before walking over to her. 

Confused by the interaction, you brush off your concern and get back into the swing of your routine. You head to the Captain's office, surprised when one of the secretarial androids chirps a "Good morning, Detective V!" on the way. That earns you curious stares from some of the human staff nearby. 

"Hello, Captain Fowler," you greet the man, gently closing the glass door behind you. "Your coffee." 

"Thank you," he mutters in response, focused on whatever it is that he's typing at the moment. "How was your outing with the detectives last night? Reed told me you ran into some trouble with—" He stops, just now looking up from his monitor and noting the bruising on your face. "What happened?" The Captain's tone is stern, but there's something almost parental in the way he leans forward and gestures for you to take a seat in front of his desk.

"While looking for the android that murdered the victim," you begin, not missing a beat, "We encountered a second deviant. The two resisted arrest, and we were unable to apprehend the pair before they escaped. I... My performance was unacceptable, Captain. I apologize." 

"You _fought_ them? On your own?" 

"No, sir, Connor, Detective Reed, and Lieutenant Anderson assisted." 

He narrows his eyes, "The four of you couldn't nab _two_ androids?" 

Your mind flits back to Connor, who hesitated to shoot either of the Tracis. _No_ , you reason with yourself, _Connor isn't allowed to handle weapons. He did nothing wrong._ Then you think of Hank, who had just been nearly strangled to death at the time. He was nearly incapacitated. It wasn't his fault. Gavin was pinned by one of the girls. What was your excuse? Head trauma? You've been through worse with better results. 

"V." 

You snap back to attention. "Yes, Captain," instinctively, you nod sharply, "I apologize, Captain. I take full responsibility for our failure last night." 

Fowler sighs, eyes softening. "It's not your fault. In fact, you should've stayed out of the rough business. Gilbert wouldn't have approved of you putting yourself in danger like that." 

That leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Would he really have been upset with you? Will he find out? But... you've been in more intense fights before. Even some parts of your training were more brutal than last night's scrap in a back alley. And each of those times, Gilbert's only ever been proud of you. 

"I sincerely apologize, Captain," you repeat. You feel hollow. 

The Captain, on the other hand, is quick to get over the matter. "I'll make sure you stay out of trouble from now on. Get you started back on transcriptions, if you'd like." 

"I..." you begin softly, but grow in resolve with each word. "Captain Fowler, I would like to continue following the deviant cases assigned to Lieutenant Anderson and Connor. Despite the events of last night, I feel that I'd be most useful this way." 

Fowler thinks for a moment, considering his options. 

"Tell you what," he offers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I got a bit tangled up with my plot planning, so I'd love some input for what direction to take going forward. We have some choices here for little VE001:  
> • Become a trio, primarily involved with Connor and Hank (and Sumo!)  
> • Be partnered with Gavin, spending more time with him on _not_ deviant cases, but red ice ones. (There's some overlap! We'd still see Connor and his dad sometimes!)  
> • Form a tense quartet, partnered with Gavin while he's reassigned from red ice to deviant cases.


End file.
